


A Public Spectacle

by MissMoochy



Series: Bipolarmolar's Kinkmeme Fills [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Insults, M/M, Object Insertion, Public Humiliation, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Fill for a kinkmeme prompt.  After having sex with Crowley for the first time, Aziraphale is dragged back to heaven by other angels. He is stripped naked and tied down in a public place so that all of Heaven can shame him for being a demon's whore.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bipolarmolar's Kinkmeme Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1488128
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	A Public Spectacle

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the early episodes of the show.

He’d been here for hours. He should have known better than to accept happiness. But they’d been drinking in his shop, discussing how to avert the apocalypse and Aziraphale had said something (he couldn’t recall what) and Crowley had given him that look that could only be described as ‘exasperated fondness’. Aziraphale had felt alight with merry good humour. And so he’d let his hand fall off his lap onto Crowley’s thigh. Crowley had looked at him again but it was different this time. And the night had passed but he’d barely noticed it.

They were enemies. They were on opposite sides. He shouldn’t like Crowley, shouldn’t let him kiss him, touch him. Certainly shouldn’t have clung to Crowley’s back or wrapped his legs around his waist. But Crowley was so good, he knew exactly how to tempt Aziraphale. And Aziraphale’s bedroom (which hadn’t existed previously, but sprouted up once Aziraphale had willed it into existence) was their happy little sanctuary. Heaven and Hell couldn’t touch them in there, there were only sheets and wine and Crowley’s skin. Of course, Crowley had hastened to leave in the morning, although he’d promised to return later. It was too risky to stay, Aziraphale had agreed this, curled up under the covers, still feeling ghost-echoes of Crowley’s fingers on his hips. So Crowley had closed the door and he’d heard the Bentley drive off a few minutes later. And he’d snuggled up in his new bed that smelt like the both of them. Until there were hands ripping the covers off and a jeering voice in his ear.

* * *

He was in Heaven now, tied with white rope to a stone slab. The room that he found himself in was vast, and white, like most rooms in Heaven. He’d tried wriggling free, tried using his powers, even tried reasoning with his captors in a moment of madness but it did nothing other than cause him to receive a slap in the face from Uriel. They’d stripped him before tying him, and he lay there with his arms and legs separated.

The one thing Aziraphale could reassure himself with, was that at least they didn’t have Crowley. He was probably in the Bentley right now, happy, with the radio on perhaps, completely oblivious to this. He’d hoped (assumed?) that Crowley would come and rescue him, maybe appear in some suitably dramatic way with a snarky remark on his lips but that was three hours ago. Passing angels had wandered over, drawn to the spectacle, the angel tied to the slab. There, they’d watched him, whispered and pointed. He’d caught the words ‘demon’ and ‘traitor’ a few times. They stared at him with frank interest, some craning their necks to see the mound between his legs. Some of them had never seen an Effort before, certainly not one that was...used.

He wanted to push his legs together, hide the vulnerable opening that the angels leered at. Cover up his crotch and his throat, his hips and his chest. Wipe the tears from his face. He hated himself for crying. He was biting his lips, he would let the tears fall silently, he wouldn’t let them hear his cries. The sobs were building in his chest but couldn’t get past his gritted teeth, so for now, he could pretend he was strong. Crowley wouldn’t have cried. Crowley would have fought back, cut them all down to size with some derisive retort and unleashed demonic fury upon them, ripped them all to shreds until their bloodied feathers torn from their wings, covered the earth like falling snow. But he wasn’t Crowley. Although sometimes, he wished he was.

“Looks very wet in there...” Sandalphon remarked. “And pink. And shiny.”

Uriel smirked. “When we took him, it was right after their _coupling._ The demon had already left,”

“Well, he would. He’s not going to stay around for the ambience, is he?” Michael said.

“So the demon had left, and our dear angel was lying there, covered in his boyfriend’s...demonic presence,” Uriel went on.

“So that’s the-?”

“Jizz, spunk, come. Whatever you want to call it. The humans have lots of words for it.” Uriel said. “Disgusting, if you ask me.”

“At least he didn’t do this with a human. The last thing we need are Nephilim to track down,” Gabriel remarked. He was pointedly looking away from Aziraphale’s crotch, revulsion twisting his face.

“I think a human lover would be more worthy than a demon. At least humanity has a touch of the divine. This, letting a demon-” Michael gestured down at Aziraphale’s body. “- _debase_ you. It’s like mating with an animal,”

“Animal is the right word. Look at all the bite marks on his neck!” An unfamiliar angel said. 

“There’s bite marks all over. And the demon dug his nails in, see those marks on his hips, those things that look like tiny white crescent moons? That’s from the nails.”

“That’s a smart observation, Uriel. Good work,” Gabriel said, patting her on the back. He leant down, looking not at Aziraphale’scrotch, but his soft stomach. “It’s sad when a warrior lets themself go,” he said, and poked Aziraphale’s belly. “He’s not ready to fight in a holy war.”

“He couldn’t even fight us off, when we grabbed him. Not so brave without your demon mate, are you, Aziraphale?” Uriel was gazing at him with a true, happy hatred. He stared back at her, matching her hatred. Until the tears bubbled up again and she blurred in his vision.

At some point, one of the angels sidled over, carrying an umbrella, part of their human disguise. Sandalphon took it from them, with their permission, and jabbed Aziraphale with it, between his thighs. He winced, cringed away from the sharp poke, but two angels held his legs open, and Sandalphon jammed the rod up him, deep as it would go. He screamed through the gag but that only made the angels laugh.

“See how deep it can go!” An angel in the crowd said with a laugh. “That demon must have opened him right up!”

“That demon probably tore him open. He’ll never be right again,” Michael said. “It’s sad, really.”

An angel appeared at her shoulder. “Please, I have those reports you requested,”

“Oh lovely. I’d better go, business calls. Uriel, untie him.”

Uriel loosened the rope as roughly as she could. His wrists and ankles ached, they must surely be red. He lay there, covering up his body with his arms, with his bundle of clothing.

Gradually, the angelic crowd dissipated, some needing to go back to work, others flying off. Aziraphale lay there, shivering, naked, still with the umbrella wedged up his cunt. The one thought that propelled him into action, extracting the umbrella, pulling on his clothes and limping out of there was the thought that Crowley would miss him, would wonder where he was. It was only when he was back on Earth that he unclenched his jaw and let the noisy sobs rip their way up his throat.  
  



End file.
